


the ones who had loved him the most

by mitch23k



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Missing Scene, brienne has the smallest ever moment in here where she almost realizes she's bi omg, goddd loras and brienne should truly just get drunk and talk about everything, i really wanted to have her straight up realize it but i resisted bc this aint about that, loras is an ass make no mistake but he's learning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 05:31:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19202878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitch23k/pseuds/mitch23k
Summary: Loras questions Brienne about Renly's death.





	the ones who had loved him the most

Brienne was still nursing the betrayal she’d been feeling for hours, sitting quietly on the palet given to her, when there was a sharp knock at the chamber door.

The girl stared nervously at the entrance. Ever since Jaime had ordered her locked in here, she’d had just two visitors: a gruff man she did not know the name of who sported long blond hair - a Lannister, she was certain, but she was more than passing ignorant of the names of Jaime’s kin - who had given her a roughspun blue dress, long enough to fit her adequately and left without another word; and a kindly, black haired serving maid named Bella who’d given her a tray with buttered bread, purple grapes, and a cup of chilled summer-wine, and nervously asked her if it was true that she was the maid who’d returned the king’s uncle to King’s Landing.

“Aye,”  Brienne had responded softly, looking away. The girl would make a jest, no doubt. “I am.”

Bella had smiled and looked behind herself at the door, as if making sure no one was listening, then she’d leant forward. “My little sister, Amna, she wants to be a knight when she’s a woman grown. Likes to carry around a branch and pretend so. She’d be tickled to meet a real lady knight.”

Brienne smiled wearily. “I am no lady, nor ser, my lady.”

“But you are!” the girl had insisted. “How amazing it must be to see the world!”

Brienne had put aside her self-loathing for more than a quarter of an hour to entertain the awed girl with tales of her travels with Lady Catelyn, Ser Jaime, and such, before the Lannister man from earlier returned and harshly ordered Bella to get back to her duties. The sweet girl had offered her a sad smile before departing. Then Lannister had slammed the door shut again and she was alone.

Her stomach had been growling for sometime as well. Bella had brought her lunch, but it was evening outside the tower windows.

The door opened unbidden, and there stood her once sworn brother, Ser Loras Tyrell. He looked half a god in his spotless white cloak, a golden rose clapsing it to his equally white armor. His smile, usually the envy of all the maids, though, could’ve curdled milk. It was more a grimace than anything.

“Brienne,” he said, skipping formalities. He shut the door and turned to her.

Brienne averted her eyes. “Ser Loras,” she said dumbly. “To what do I owe the honor?”

It was half a jape and they both knew it. Loras had been the one who told Jaime to lock her in here in the first place. They hadn’t spoken since Storm’s End, and even before that, in the short time they’d been members of the Rainbow Guard, fewer than ten words had been exchanged between them, she was sure. Based on his expression, he also hadn’t forgotten her beating him at Renly’s melee.

“I’ve been sent personally by Lord Commander Jaime Lannister to question you,” Loras asserted confidently. His right hand stayed comfortably on his sword hilt. “For your crimes against Ki- Lord Renly Baratheon,” he added, smile running away.

Brienne sighed. She’d be hard-pressed to convince Loras, let alone anyone else. She could still sadly recall Lady Catelyn defending her against the accusations at Riverrun, to no avail.

“Ser Loras,” she tried anyway. “I had nothing to do with his death. I loved Renly, you _know_ that, you do!”

“What do you know of love?” Loras shot back. “You were infatuated with him, nothing more. You knew nothing of him outside of the false smiles reserved for his bannerman!”

“I was devoted to him,” Brienne insisted. She felt herself standing, though she knew it was a bad idea. Loras was armored, armed, and furious. It would not be wise to get in his face, and yet, she did just that. “I would’ve killed his murderer if I could’ve.”

Loras laughed, though it sounded a bit hysterical. The Knight of Flowers sounded close to tears, but when Brienne met his gaze, his soft brown eyes were full of anger. “Then how is it that the only dead men in that tent were Emmon, Robar, and Renly?”

“It was a shadow,” she pleaded. “Some sorcery, some magic by the red priestess we saw at the parley. I’m sure of it, and Lady Catelyn is as well.”

“Was,” Loras corrected without heat. Brienne blinked away the tears that quickly formed in her eyes, cursing herself. “Lady Catelyn perished with Robb Stark, I hear?”

Brienne bobbed her head. “That’s what I am told as well. Murdered by the Freys. I couldn’t save her either. I can’t save anyone.” She said down heavily on her makeshift bed and sobbed.

Lady Catelyn shouldn’t have trusted her with anything. She’d barely returned Jaime in one piece, she’d gotten captured on the road, and she had heard it said whilst she and Jaime were supping a few days earlier after first hearing news of King Joffrey’s death that Sansa Stark had fled the capitol. Brienne would never find her now. She cried for Lady Catelyn, her dead sons and lost daughters, and for Jaime’s broken spirit and Renly’s cold body. She’d failed them all.

Loras studied her for a moment. Brienne was homely, she knew, broad-shouldered and nearly three hands taller than Loras, and knew that while a chivalrous knight might comfort a weeping maid, she was not like to receive the same courtesies.

She was mightily surprised when Ser Loras knelt before her and hesitated before saying, “The Kingslayer. Ser Jaime. You saved him, it’s being said.”

“His hand,” she managed to say in between breaths. “He lost his hand.”

“I saw. I’m sure...I’m sure he played his own part in that. I’ve only met my Lord Commander a few times, Brienne, but he’s got quite the mouth.”

Brienne laughed through her tears. “Lady Catelyn had him gagged when he lost at Whispering Wood. She said she couldn’t stand his voice.”

Loras chuckled as well, but Brienne returned to her tears. Jaime had saved her from certain rape, and she sat here mocking him?

Loras stood and walked to the door, leaving her alone. She was certain he was fleeing a woman’s tears, but he returned moments later with a pitcher of Dornish red and two goblets. “They were meant to bring you supper some time ago. I’ll see to it that it’s prepared soon. Did you receive lunch?”

Brienne nodded, wiping her eyes. “Thank you, ser. I don’t drink, though.”

The young man ignored this and poured her a cup. “I’ve heard it said that this is the finest wine in the Seven Kingdoms, but Renly preferred the Arbor.”

“I remember.” Not from the encampment, but from one of his visits to Tarth. Lord Sellwyn had tried very hard to entrance the king’s brother with his daughter, and spared no expense. His favorite foods (roasted swan with onion, poached pears, applecakes, she’d never forget) were also studied. “He came to Tarth. Twice.”

“I know,” Loras said, taking a long drink from his cup. For the first time, Brienne noted the dark circles under his eyes. “I was with him the second time. His lord’s progress.”

“Yes. You squired for him.” In truth, Brienne did not recall much of Renly’s entourage. She’d only had eyes for her king, no one else. If Loras had been there as he said, he hadn’t made an impression on her.

“I remember seeing you. You were dressed in yellow. Your hair was longer, I think. It had a ribbon in it.”

“It was yellow as well.” She’d fought against that ribbon like her life depended on it, but her father had been close to begging.

“Yes. Renly kissed your hand as soon as we got off the boat and said it was fetching on you.”

She remembered that. How could she forget? His soft lips on her calloused skin, so sweet. He treated her like a real woman, called her lovely, told her jokes. She remembered every second of his presence. “I’ll be honest, ser, I don’t recall you being there.”

Loras smiled. “It was hard to notice anyone else in the world when he entered a room, wasn’t it?”

Brienne smiled agreeably, then stared at Loras. Was he mocking her after all, sounding so lovesick? Loras had been a fierce companion of Renly’s, his lord commander and childhood friend, but he sounded like a wooed maiden. Brienne frowned. It was hard to tell when he was being chivalrous and when he was playing at it.

“I’m sorry that I left the camp so quickly,” Brienne said, deciding to take advantage of his calm state. “Lady Catelyn bid me do so, and I did not think anyone would believe me.”

“A shadow,” Loras said slowly, looking out the window. He sipped his wine. “A shadow killed Renly. Of course no one believes you. You could lie better.”

“It’s not a lie, I swear,” she said. “I swear it on my honor.”

“Brienne, if you did kill Renly, you have no honor,” Loras said, leaning against a wall. He seemed like whatever energy he had had been leeched out of him. It was clear he was tired, either physically or otherwise. “Pick something else.”

“I swear it on my lady mother.”

Loras quirked an eyebrow. “I do not know her.”

“She’s dead, ser.”

Loras looked away. “I’m sorry.”

“The shadow had the face of Stannis Baratheon,” Brienne continued. “On my lady mother’s memory, I swear that it had to have been the red priestess. Some spell, with Stannis’s knowledge or help, doubtless.”

“I remember Melisandre,” Loras said. Brienne had forgotten her name, in truth. “Renly was troubled by her. He told me he was almost worried for his brother, under her tutelage. Worried for Stannis. Can you believe it?” Loras laughed joylessly. “He thought her craven. I could almost believe that this was her doing.”

“Almost?” Brienne prodded.

Loras sighed and set down his goblet. “Brienne, you have to understand that this is hard to believe. A shadow? My family doesn’t believe in magic.”

“Renly might have,” she said, clutching desperately at anything.

Loras rolled his eyes. “You think you know him so well. You think you loved him. Thousands of maids and ladies all across Westeros think he fancied them, just because he was kind. If I may, you all seem to have low standards. A man is kind to you, so you think he’s Aemon the Dragonknight come again?”

“Men are often cruel,” Brienne said truthfully. “He was kind to smallfolk as well, men and women. Poor or rich. It is rare that a man calls me beautiful and kisses my hand.”

Loras looked at her then, sadly. Pity was in his eyes. She hadn’t expected that, but still hated it all the same. She looked away.

“Renly wouldn’t have married you, you know,” Loras said, though there was no malice in his voice. He sounded... _gentle_? Perhaps he had a nugget of true knighthood in him. No wonder Renly had liked him. “He was trying to put it off as long as he could, but eventually Robert was going to make the match. He wouldn’t have chosen you. Probably a lesser Lannister, or maybe Balon Greyjoy’s daughter, to solidify alliances.”

“He loved your sister, the maid Margaery,” Brienne said miserably. “I know.”

Loras slammed his goblet down on the desk so hard that it chipped the wood. He punched the wall, once, twice, three times, and kicked it once for good measure. He turned to Brienne, scowling, all his gentleness gone.

“None of you knew him!” Loras screamed. “None of you cared for him like I did! And you all get to dally around and speak of how you miss him? It’s not fair!” He grabbed his goblet, threw it above Brienne’s head. She ducked unneccasarily, just in case. It smashed into a thousand pieces and came to rest on the floor. “It’s not fair!”

“Ser Loras,” she tried to say, but Loras had her by her mulish shoulders before she could even think, slamming her against the wine-soaked wall. She was stronger than him, but dazed, and she just blinked at his rage.

He shook her, hard, his brown curls flying around his head. “He didn’t love you! He didn’t love any of you!” Her pressed her back against the wall uncomfortably, but Brienne didn’t shove back, though she could have had him against the floor in an instant if she wanted. “He didn’t love _any of you!”_

“Loras, please,” she began, but he screamed in wordless agony and reared back. For a moment, Brienne feared he was going to headbutt her, and prepared to strike first, but he only pressed his head into her flat chest and let out an enormous sob.

Brienne stared down at him for a moment before awkwardly and tentatively letting her arms encircle him. She was sure they looked an odd couple, a freakish woman hugging a smaller knight to her breast, and thanked the Seven that Loras had barred the door shut.

Some noise came out of Loras’s mouth, unintelligibly. “What?”

His response was muffled, and Brienne gently extracted him from her and sat him down on the pallet. She sat beside him and again asked what he had said.

He hid his face in his hands, probably ashamed of his tears. Men were supposed to be ashamed of crying, especially in front of someone else, especially in front of a woman, but Brienne had never seen sense in that, and patted him, maybe too strongly, on the shoulder.

“Ser Loras,” she said, softly. She was not especially nurturing, but she had been prepared for children as any other highborn maiden had been. She knew what was to be done with a weeping child. “Whatever it is you have to say, it will be okay.”

“No it won’t!” Loras cried.

“Please. I want to know.”

Loras stood quickly and strode to the other side of the room. Brienne politely pretended not to notice as he wiped his eyes with the edge of his cloak and took a few steadying breaths. Finally, he turned back to her, eyes swollen red. He looked nervous. That confused her. What would Loras Tyrell have to be nervous about?

“You must promise me,” Loras said, gaze deadly serious. “You must swear on your lady mother that you’ll tell no one.”

“I swear,” Brienne said, and smiled, rather awkwardly. “Tell me.”

So Loras Tyrell stood before her and told it all, and told it true. Time went by, perhaps hours by the gnawing in her stomach, but Brienne could not bear to stop him. He went on and on about his early years being a squire at Storm’s End, his growing feelings for men and his appreciation of his lord, his attempts to tell him, at long last, the time they kissed. The special spot that Renly kept secret to all, even his brothers, but had shown Loras as an extra gift for his fourteenth name-day. The first time they had made love. Loras blushed as he told that.

He spoke of the first tourney he’d ever competed in, how he gave his favor to the woman sitting closest to Renly, who happened to be Queen Cersei Lannister, but had locked eyes with Renly while proclaiming her the fairest woman in all Westeros, much to the amusement of King Robert. He told of how his sister had put it all together, told him she knew, and loved him even more for it. He told of how he’d been in King’s Landing for months and been around people claiming to mourn for Renly, while he couldn’t shed a tear for fear they’d be found out.

He told her everything, and at the end, looked so scared Brienne had concerns he was going to vomit. “Please,” he managed to say, his skin pale white with fear. “Don’t think less of him. He was good, they all got that right.”

Brienne was at a loss for words. She knew of men who liked other men, had even met a few. She’d heard even of women who desired other women. In the South, though definitively not accepted, it was mostly considered fine it you kept it to yourself. She knew from her studies as a child that there’d even been Targaryen kings and queens who’d had such feelings.

In faith, she’d felt bubblings for women before herself. Margaery, even, as she despised the sight of her sat with Renly at Bitterbridge, had thought her possessing surpassing loveliness. Lady Catelyn had been a beautiful woman, and strong. Brienne had loved her, certainly. In the way Loras had loved Renly, though? She was uncertain.

Renly. Renly, Renly, Renly. Truly she was as stupid as Jaime said, because once Loras said it, it became clear to her. He’d been kind to all women he came across, even her, but was unmarried at twenty? Of course.

After a few moments of ruminations, she realized Loras was still staring at her, scared witless, and thought, _Idiot. Do something!_

“Ser Loras, I swear to keep this to myself. You loved him well. I’m sorry that you cannot mourn for him, even now,” she finally said. She stood. “I promise.”

Loras looked close to tears again, but nodded and studied his feet. “Thank you, Lady Brienne.”

Awkwardly they stood there for nearly a minute, before Brienne couldn’t stop herself from saying, “He danced with me. At Tarth.”

Loras nodded, strained. “I seem to recall. Other boys were mocking you, I think.”

They had been. No wonder Loras looked troubled - she remembered him now. He’d been one of them. They’d been playing at loving her, but when they’d started giggling, Brienne knew. Renly had stopped her from fleeing the hall and danced with her, ignoring her missteps and height. He ordered her to never let them see her cry, called them “nasty little shits” and made her laugh.

“He was a good man,” Loras said sadly. “He would’ve been a wonderful king. I remember the time he taught me how to sing ‘The Dornishman’s Wife’.”

Brienne smiled. “I didn’t know he sang, ser.”

“Oh, trust me, my lady, he didn’t.”

They both laughed, hearty and happy. They could’ve been in there a few hours more, trading stories, if there hadn’t been a knock at the door.

Loras unbarred and opened it. A man Brienne didn’t know stood before them, in the white of the Kingsguard.

“Ser Boros,” Loras greeted. Luckily his eyes were dry now, the blotchiness caused by tears faded away.

Ser Boros looked at Brienne with thinly-veiled disgust, but seemed pleased enough with the Knight of Flowers. “Our Lord Commanders bids you come speak to him, brother. And bring the...maid.”

Ser Loras frowned. “Her name is Brienne, ser.”

“And bring the Lady Brienne,” Boros said, his lips twisted in a scowl. “And to be quick about it.”

“My lady, if you would follow me,” Ser Loras said, offering Brienne his arm. His turnaround had been quick. Usually, Brienne wouldn’t have taken his arm, but then again, it would usually have been a cruel jape. Plus, to argue and fight now would only mean she would be apart from Jaime for longer, and she desperately wanted to speak to him. Not about Loras or Renly, for she had been true when swearing that oath.

She took his arm.

“Another time,” Loras said quietly when they were a few yards away from Ser Boros, “We should have to get right drunk and talk about him.”

Brienne didn’t drink but felt no need to mention it. He could get drunk and she could listen. She owed that to Renly, didn’t she? He was his beloved, after all.

“Of course, Ser Loras,” she said.


End file.
